Exorcist's Self-Cultivation

He pushed open the church door.

It was now 12:08 AM.

Du Wei hadn't woken up Tom, who was deep in pleasant dreams, or Father Tony.

He just wanted to go home and rest well.

Weary at heart.

Though there was an antique clock at home, to be honest.

For so long, he had become used to first checking the antique clock upon returning, then falling asleep to the sound of its regular and mechanical ticking.

Of course.

He always remained vigilant about the antique clock.

Home was the safest place, but also the most dangerous.

Sharing a slumber with a Demon Spirit.

He guessed nobody in the world could do the same as Du Wei.

He took a deep breath.

A slight chill brushed the tip of Du Wei's nose.

He had vanished for a week, and now it was July 7th.

During the day, it was fine, but at night, the temperature difference began to grow large.

At this time.

Du Wei frowned again: "A week..."

As he spoke, he rummaged in his pocket and took out his cell phone.

It was out of battery.

He remembered something.

Having disappeared for a week, Alex would have definitely called him. After all, in this world, apart from her, Tom, and Father Tony, basically no one else would care about him.

"I need to think of a reasonable excuse."

Du Wei said this but couldn't help feeling a headache come on again.

He didn't know how to face Alex now.

She was the reincarnation of Minette.

And, according to the truth he'd learned behind Hell's Gate, Minette had harbored endless feelings for him in the past.

Even if Du Wei only cared about Alex.

But if one day in the future, Alex suddenly regained the memories of her previous life, wouldn't that mean she would know about the past when he had almost strangled her to death?

You should know.

What he had previously experienced was a repetition of a certain moment in the past.

Du Wei didn't agree with this at all.

But his girlfriend was different...

"Maybe I'm overthinking it. How could Alex recall her past life's memories?"

"If Ryan can't remember, there's no reason she should be able to."

"Besides, even if she could remember, what then? The one who almost killed her was Evil Spirit Du Wei. What does that have to do with me, Du Wei?"

Having said that.

Du Wei breathed a sigh of relief. He put his phone back in his pocket and started walking towards his home.

The road ahead was long.

But there was a faint mist spreading.

He walked slowly, and after stopping at a convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes, he walked alone down the street, smoking.

The dim streetlights beside him stretched his shadow long.

It seemed as lonely as he was.

But soon, as his figure vanished into the mist, not even his shadow was visible any longer, leaving only the streetlights.

...

July 7th, 1:20 AM.

Du Wei arrived at his home's entrance.

He had walked a long distance, and his trench coat was dampened by the mist.

He took out his keys, inserted them, and turned.

Squeak...

Joined by the grating sound of the door opening.

Du Wei walked into the pitch-black house.

He flipped the switch for the living room lights.

Suddenly.

The living room lit up.

On the wall, the antique clock was still hanging, as it had been when he left.

But Du Wei's expression had turned very ugly.

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For he saw the living room in complete disarray, many documents had been shredded into bits, and the furniture lay about in twisted heaps on the floor, with the sofa split in two.

Not to mention the small ornaments like the coffee table.

Du Wei lifted his head and glanced at the ceiling light. The lampshade drooped over the bulb, the exposed wires pulled down by gravity.

"Has my home been burgled?"

"Or did New York just have another earthquake?"

Du Wei eyed the Antique Clock with a peculiar gaze, "What have you been up to in the week I've been away?"

Burglary was naturally out of the question.

If a thief had come in, they would have certainly died in the house.

As for an earthquake...

The Antique Clock had already caused such an incident once before.

However.

The Antique Clock could not possibly respond to Du Wei.

Tick tock tick...

Only the hands of the clock were moving.

Du Wei's face was expressionless; he said no more.

Given some more time, as long as Evil Spirit Du Wei could wake up once again, he would have enough confidence to wrestle with the Antique Clock.

Now was not the right time.

With that thought.

Du Wei did not bother with it any further and stepped over the mess on his way back to the bedroom on the second floor.

In the bedroom.

Du Wei emptied his pockets one by one.

Dice, Coin, Envelope, mask, lighter...

And that oil painting.

"Before, I only considered the painting as an item related to the curse, but now it seems it can be my trump card for survival. With it, I can hide inside and escape through Freddy."

"There's also the shadow that has now become my own, forever unable to rid itself of me, nor defy me."

"And since it has become a Demon Spirit, my current strength, not counting my transformation into Evil Spirit Du Wei, should be on par with those from the Vanity Sect."

"Add to that my numerous trump cards, I wouldn't be totally defenceless when faced with Strangeness on my own."

Safety is always of utmost importance, no matter the time.

Although he hadn't encountered any Strangeness yet.

Du Wei habitually made preparations, as the Horror House and the bus had left him feeling very insecure.

It felt like all the Evil Spirits in the world had a vendetta against him.

What's more.

The things Du Wei was about to do were even crazier than before.

He had already set his sights on the Seventy-Two Pillars Demon Gods of Solomon, as well as the church, the Voodoo Cult, Dusk Bell Church, and the Vanity Sect.

"Perhaps starting with the Voodoo Cult first is a good entry point," he concluded.

Having said that, Du Wei lay down on the bed and began to rest.

He was truly exhausted, and even the Seal, which always fancied itself as a hunting dog, did not come out to bother him.

...

On the other side.

At Dusk Bell Church.

In the secret room of Matthew's chambers.

The kerosene lamp lit up the surroundings.

Matthew sat at his desk with the pen related to the Demon God on one side.

Opposite him, a middle-aged Caucasian man was chained to the cross, his eyes tightly closed, appearing as though he was dead, emitting no signs of life.

At that moment.

Matthew flipped open a worn book.

It wasn't very thick, but upon opening it, the first page read:

[To this day, we cannot accept everything His Excellency the Duke has done. His name, his true visage, has long since become taboo, yet some are still awaiting his revival.]

[In the distant future, maybe one day, he will reappear before us in a way none of us could have anticipated.]

[But know this, he has become more than human, and the one who might return might just be an empty shell.]

[Still, we are grateful for his contributions; he showed us that there are ways to steal the powers of Solomon's Seventy-Two Pillars Demon Gods, although it may be very difficult to succeed.]

Reading this, Matthew sighed with complicated feelings.

Across from him, the middle-aged man opened his eyes and said indifferently, "So he has returned."

Matthew responded, "But he is too weak now, even weaker than I am."

The middle-aged man retorted, "He is a precursor, as am I."

The conversation between the two men didn't quite resemble a dialogue; it sounded more like a soliloquy, their tones matching perfectly, the only difference being in the timbre of their voices.

One aged, one youthful.

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